I think I might finally be getting the hang of this year – it’s all about waiting.
We waited to see what Covid would bring. Then we waited to see if our jobs would come back. Then we waited to see if the protests would really bring about change. We continued waiting to see what Covid would bring after Memorial Day, the Fourth of July and Labor Day. We wait in the hope that our kids and grandkids will be OK at school. Some of us are still waiting to see if our jobs will come back.
And now we, in the west, wait to see if the smoke that hangs like a dirty, yellow fog over our neighborhoods will explode into fire that takes everything we own. Next we wait to see what madness the election will bring. Then we wait to see how this aberration called 2020 will end.
I hate waiting.
I’ve never been terribly patient with life, but this year has forced me to slow down, and finally focus on what I really want, and put serious effort into making it happen.
So, in some ways Covid has actually been good for me, but I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I’ve had good health and unemployment to help me through, so it hasn’t been scary. I’ve had time to miss my kids, grandkids, nieces, nephews, great nieces and nephews, my family, the hugs, the kisses, and great meals that never got shared.
2020 has put a laser focus on what’s really important. And it’s not about the trappings of life. It’s not how clean my house is or how it’s decorated, what new clothes I have, who I’m dating, or where I’m vacationing.
Covid pushed me to be alone with myself so long, I was actually forced to confront who I am and consider what I really want. And nothing magnifies how short life can be like a pandemic, so there was a reason to self examine without the usual distractions of shopping, cleaning, or holiday decorating and cooking.
My nightly walk through my neighborhood became something I really looked forward to. I focused on the comforting chirp of crickets and my sneakers hitting the blacktopped pavement while I looked up at my old friend, the Big Dipper hanging in the sky. Then I came home to my nightly numbing of Netflix, followed by another day.
Every day was the same, reminding me every day will always be the same unless I do something to change it. So writers like me wrote, musicians played, inventors created and dreams moved forward. It’ll be interesting to see what gets birthed next year because of Covid.
It started with waiting but it ends with doing.